Apologies here to those people who we totally failed to contact and catch up with while we were in Devon; Nick & Susie, Mike and Belinda, Colin & Nickie and all the others, our apologies.
Click here to see the full gallery of amazing Devon landscape shots.
29/11/15 (sunshine and showers, cold.)
Oh god it was hard to pack up and leave Trinity cottages, especially as the sun had come out briefly, (so that’s what the place looks like!?!?!) We stopped off to say our goodbyes to Jamesy and Rachel and Howard and Janet, and sad it was to say goodbye.
The drive to Bideford was lovely enough, even in the rain, to keep our spirits buoyed. Passing the length of Cornwall and then into Devon was a nostalgic reminder of how fucking beautiful the two counties are.
We soon reached our destination, Bickington, lair of the dreaded Harness clan. There we were wonderfully fed and wined, well actually fed wined and whiskied, and generally caught up with Harney, Jo, Tom, Jack, and introducing Izzy, Tom’s partner. (We only had sodding “birds’ in our day, not bloody “partners”.)
Now then, talk about coincidence! Jack and Izzy were good mates from primary school upwards. Somehow Izzy and Tom has got involved in a “relationship” (i.e. started shagging each other,) mid way through last year. But!! When Tom was over here staying with us last year, Izzy, unbeknownst to us or him, was actually working as a Nanny some dozen or so houses up the street from us. She was living at number 68, we lived in 14. So two kids from Barnstaple, who were soon to go and get together romantically in the UK, were actually staying in the same street in Australia at the same time. Bloody Nora.
That night Harney introduced us to a movie, “Very Annie Mary”, about a quirky Welsh village. Although, as Lee-Anne pointed out, it may as well have been called “Taff’s family and mates”. Harney’s homemade whisky took a real belting that night. Funnily enough I still have a bottle of the stuff, given to me by Harney in 2005, which I promised not to drink until he made it out to Canberra to share it with me. That’ll be drunk this November then..
A great night’s kip was had in a bed which was longer than me.
30/11/15 (cloudy with showers at times.)
A slow start to the day was in order. Eventually we plucked up enough courage to brave the traffic, and set off. The road between Bideford and Dartmoor, mainly on the A386, is a gorgeous run, and much “property porn” spotting was done. Getting to Mary Tavy we followed the directions which had been sent to us by the owners of the cottage we had rented.
You will go over the top of the moors and then come down a hill into Mary Tavy. Turn left at the war memorial; there is a signpost for Horndon and the Elephant’s Nest. Follow the road down the hill and over a bridge. Turn left after the bridge opposite the school, there is a sign for the Elephant’s Nest pub again. Follow this road past the pub on your right and go over two cattle grids. After the second cattle grid the road narrows to single lane traffic. Follow this road and you will come to a sharp right hand bend and the road forks to the left, this is signposted Willsworthy ¼ mile. Take this left fork and pass the farm on your immediate left. You will go over a bridge and the cottage is the first property on the right hand side.
We didn’t get very lost, much. We were met at the gate by Mike, the owner. My first impressions seemed to confirm all the thoughts my email exchanges with him had conjured up; “Public School, good university, ex-military, moneyed background, not used to working in a service industry, tending to OCD.” The next fortnight would do nothing to convince me otherwise.
He gave us a spin around the farm and area on one of those four wheel drive buggy things. They have a fair sized farm with a trout stream as one border, (with fishing rights natch.)
God, getting into the house we were blown away by how clean, tidy and well equipped it was, a far cry from our usual digs “the Barn”. Too bloody clean and tidy, boots off at the door clean and tidy. Tea cups on coasters clean and tidy. I hardly dared fart.
We decided to have a quiet night in. We had lots of quiet nights in over the next fortnight, can you blame us?
1/12/15 (Cloudy)
We took a walk up through Belever woods and to the tor.
We stopped off at The Rugglestone Inn for lunch. Bloody brilliant little boozer with a lovely lovely lovely pint of “Otter Ale” drawn from the wood. I was in heaven. I had fish and chips.
We also paid a visit to the “Cathedral of the moors”, Widecombe church. A fantastic place, I could have spent hours in there.
Funnily enough, given my propensity for visiting moorland churches, it’s one I’ve never visited before. Lee-Anne found a family connection there, the Tuckers of Widecombe.
In the afternoon we took a walk up Bonehill rocks and onto Honeybag Tor.
Driving away, we took the twisty roads home over the moors. Some two miles down the road, I saw something fall past my window. Stopping the car I found out that earlier, when I had been getting back to the car after our walk, I’d somehow managed to leave my iphone on car the roof,. It had finally fallen off, and was now in the middle of the road. Luckily it was unharmed.
We shopped at Morrisons in Tavistock, and then had a quiet night in.
2/12/15 (drizzle)
We went into Tavistock and changed some $Au into quids. While arsing about, and annoying Lee-Anne, in the bank, I decided to try my Aussie cashpoint card (eftpos card, ) in the cash machine, just to see if I could break it. To my amazement it spat 200 quid out at me, and gave my card back. Neat!
We drove out onto the moors, and found our planned route. We did a walk taking in “The Haytor Granite Tramway.”
The Haytor Granite Tramway was a tramway built to convey granite from Haytor Down, Dartmoor, Devon to the Stover Canal. It was very unusual in that the track was formed of granite sections, shaped to guide the wheels of horse-drawn wagons. It was built in 1820; the granite was in demand in the developing cities of England as masonry to construct public buildings and bridges. In 1850 the quarries employed about 100 men but by 1858 they had closed due to the availability of cheaper Cornish granite.
Lovely, lovely, walk, we didn’t even get lost once.
We had lunch in the “Rock Inn” at Haytor, what a find! I didn’t know places like this still existed. Like stepping back into a coaching inn of the Victorian era.
In there a little old boy and his missus were just getting up to leave, we stood aside to let them pass. The old boy had such bad scoliosis, he could only see the floor. His missus was obviously away with the fairies. An article in a paper on the table caught his eye, he tried telling his wife about it, this was pointless as she was in cloud cuckoo land. This continued for ages, with us standing there, waiting to get seated, while he stared at the floor and talked to someone who wasn’t on planet earth.
Eventually I gave a loud cough, and, startled to find himself in a pub full of people, he guided his missus away. I popped back to the car to grab something, only to see him driving off, bent over in half, staring between the steering wheel and the bonnet, with a visibility range in front of him of at most two yards. I hoped they hadn’t far to go..
But what a wonderfully genteel, with so many great touches, pub/hotel! (The candles on each table? Superb!!) It has a great, if modern, extension which actually manages to compliment the place. The food was wonderful, the beers in great condition. I didn’t have fish and chips, I had “Hake Fillet, crushed new potatoes, purple sprouting broccoli & sauce vierge.” I like to have variety in my grub.
I’d love this place as a local, (which is my highest recommendation of a pub.) It’s so refined there that they once refused to serve Kingman, just for being Kingman one presumes. I took some photos of the place, but my lens had fogged up.
After some photography, we had a quiet night in.
3/12/15 (mizzle.)
We had hoped to have Harney and Jo over to stay for the night. Mike threw a spanner in the works of that. Having advertised the place as “dog friendly” we found out that dogs were not allowed in the house, but had, (quite luxurious I’ll admit) enclosed kennels outside. I think Jo may not have been best pleased to leave the faithful retainer outside, probably would have preferred for Harney to sleep in the kennel, and for the dog to share her bed.
But then Mike tells us that the kennels are available to; “the renters dogs only, for insurance purposes,” so that shat on that idea.
We met up with Harney and Jo at the Dartmoor Inn at Merrivale. We did a stomp around the granite quarries of Foggintor and Kings Tor. By god it was great to be back on the moors with them two, (and Lee-Anne of course.)
It was like stepping back in time 30+ (gulp) years. We reminisced about our young and carefree days as students in the area. I’m sure we bored the tits off Lee-Anne. We strolled though the grim Princetown, and back to the cars.
We had lunch at The Dartmoor Inn at Merrivale.
Funny little pub, a bity stuck in a 70’s time warp, but all the better for that. It’s now run by a gay couple. Nothing flash nor gastro about it though, just a good well kept pint and generous servings of food. Great place to stop after a stomp on the moors. I had fish and chips. There were, believe it or not, too many chips.
After saying goodbye to Harney and Jo, and them promising to come to Canberra for a holiday, we went back to Wils and had a quiet night in.
4/12/15 (pissing down)
We parked up at the Two Bridges Hotel, and did a major stomp up to Higher White Tor. We came across Crockern tor, which I’d wanted to visit for ages.
The lower outcrop was the open-air meeting place of the Devonshire Stannary Parliament from the early 14th century until the first half of the 18th century. On Parliament Rock, the Lord Warden of the Great Court of the Devon Tinners supposedly sat during meetings of the Court.
After carefully teaching Lee-Anne the perils of Dartmoor mires and marshes, I kindly demonstrated their perils by falling up to my arse in a bog, and having to get pulled out if it. We crossed many streams, with Lee-Anne delicately hoping from boulder to boulder, and me, covered in shit up to the waist, wading through.
Despite looking like a swamp monster, and smelling like a pigsty, I was allowed into the Two Bridges Hotel. This was so genteel it made the Rock Inn look like a Llanelli dive. It’s very refined, exquisitely decorated with antiques, and beautifully “olde worlde”. Christ it was plush, I felt all “Seaside Boy” again. I sat there steaming and stinking, and ate a salmon baguette.
Lee-Anne wanted to Kyle that afternoon, so I did a stomp up Brent Tor.
That night Clarkie arrived, having flown over from Luxembourg and driven down from Bristol. We met him at The Elephant’s Nest.
We caught up over a few beers and some grub. I had “Rarebit topped Hake and mash”. My three major food groups in one meal! Beer, fish and cheese, what more could a man ask for?
5/12/15 (overcast with rain periods)
Me and Clarkie did a massive hike. The objective, Ger tor, was done, then Clarkie, as per fucking norm, said; “Let’s head off over there and see what we can find.” We found lots, Sharp Tor, Hare Tor and a whole host of others, including an amazing stone row and circle.
We, or rather Clarkie, then navigated us back to Tavy Cleave. We realised that by following the river we could get back to our car. There was a path. Ok, it was on the other side of the river, but there was a path.
Boulder hopping along our side of the river, I fell up to my arse in a bog again. Just just to make this experience less pleasant, I bounced my camera off a rock, neatly breaking the filter thread, and then smacked it off my chin. I was not a happy bunny.
We went home and changed, then me and Clarkie did Brent Tor again. I love Brent Tor.
We called into Tavi to get the ingredients for Lee-Anne’s famous “Jerk Salmon”.
Ok, the diary gets a bit surreal here.
“Wife, who I love dearly, makes everything right. God knows how I exist without her. To say she is the best thing that ever happened to me is not an understatement. I am poo, she is the reason the world turns.”
It’s not my writing, nor Matt’s, it rather looks like Lee-Anne’s writing. The sort she does after half a bottle of wine. Luckily I hadn’t indulged too much as I had to drive back into Tavi, again. We’d forgotten one of the ingredients for the “Jerk Salmon.”
The Salmon.
That night we stayed in and had a meal with Clarkie.
6/12/15 (damp.)
We drove down to the Dewerstone, Clarkie being bloody annoying by remembering the way.
There we took a stomp around our old climbing venue, and reminisced like two old farts who were once rather keen on climbing, before they became fat and fucked. God that brought back some memories. Again, the tits of Lee-Anne were seriously bored off her. I won’t bore you with them, consider yourself lucky.
The crag was bogging as there had been nothing but rain and drizzle for a month, slimy, greasy, green, running with water and with damp leaves on anything resembling a hold. In 35 years I don’t think I’ve seen it less inviting. Clarkie did start making noises about a “quick scramble” but a few light blows shut him up. On the walk off we bumped into young two guys, carrying ropes and gear, who were obviously heading in to do some routes. To us old farts it seemed the height of madness, I couldn’t help but comment; “That’s a serious habit you have there!”
We got back to Wils, and said our goodbyes to Clarkie. So good of him to come over, I did appreciated it, once he’d gone.
We settled in for a quiet afternoon, only to be roused by a knock on the door. There, looking like something the dog had dragged in, stood Clarkie; “Errm, I’ve had a bit of an accident.”
It turns out that driving down the single track lane, Clarkie had had a puncture. He had carried on driving on it, to clear the passage for other vehicles, which was kind of him. I asked the obvious question, only to be told; “There’s no spare tyre in it.” Knowing Clarkie as I do, I packed him into our car and drove down the lane with him, fully expecting to find his spare and change his wheel, and send him on his merry way. Getting to his car I found that his “puncture” was actually a tyre which had been completely ripped off the rim. “I did drive a fair way looking for a passing place to park,” he admitted.
To be fair, he was right on one thing, the fucker had no spare in it.
“You know what I’m going to ask you to do now, don’t you?” Oh god.
So Clarkie phoned the hire company, explained that they’d sent him out in a car with no spare, that he had a “flat”, and that he needed to get to Bristol airport to catch his flight back to Luxembourg. They agreed to send a bloke out to rescue the car. I agreed to drive the twat to Bristol. That wasn’t too bad I’ll admit, but a bit knackering, due to having to listen to the bloody oaf banging on about how grateful he was. It did have one redeeming feature though, as I explained; “I’m going to have great fun writing this one up for the blog, you’ve not heard the last of this.”
And I have, and he wont.
7/12/15 (Sunny FFS)
After the exertions of the night before, (no I mean driving Clarkie,) we were only up for a short walk despite the rare event of the sun being out. We knocked off Sharp Tor and Yartor down.
We had a quiet night in.
8/12/15 (Showers and sunshine)
Another quiet day. We did Leather Tor, my favourite of all the tors, and Peak hill. I got some great snaps. Why is leather Tor my favourite? I really don’t know, I really couldn’t say. It’s a lovely shape, has some small climbs on it, and is just far enough away from the road to make it peaceful. But it’s more than just that, read this. Other moors aficionados have admitted to me that they have “faves” too.
We stopped off at the High Moors Visitor Centre. I did my usual arseing about.
We had a quiet night in.
9/12/15 (fine)
Seeing as the forecast was for sun, we changed Lee-Anne’s specs appointment to the next day, or at least tried to. She’d been contacted by Boots Opticians in Plymouth, telling her her specs were ready for collection, but not wanting to miss out on the rare appearance of the sun, we contacted them. Lee-Anne gave her details; “Oh, we don’t have any specs here for someone of your name.” Lee-Anne spelled her name again. “Well, we have specs under that name, but they are for someone in Penzance.” Lee-Anne explained again why she had ordered in Penzance for collection in Plymouth. “But we don’t have specs for anyone by that name from Plymouth.” Lee-Anne explained again. “So you live in Penzance, but want to come to Plymouth to collect them? We can send them to Penzance if you want.” Lee-Anne explained again. “But these specs are for someone in Penzance, we cannot give them to just anyone.” This went on for an hour or two before the dim bint at the other end got the drift. “Call in anytime, you can just pick them up then.” Fuck me pink, that’s what we wanted in the first place you silly cow.
We did a major stomp, taking in Roos tor and Great Staple Tor. We found stone rows and circles. We met a very boring man with a dog.
We didn’t get lost. We even ended up at the Peter Tavy Inn in time to order our lunch. I had fish and chips.
That afternoon we were still fired up enough to visit Blackingstone rock.
The drive across the centre of the moors was wonderful, the rock itself still bathed in early evening light. We passed through Moretonhampstead, which was added to our ever lengthening list of “places where we’d love to live.”
We had a quiet night in.
10/12/15 (Drizzle and showers.)
We spent the day in Plymouth. Lee-Anne collected her specs with no problems, I think they were a bit scared of her. We did some Xmas shopping, and had a pasty. We had a tea in Captain Jaspers. We visited the Plymouth Gin Distillery, there we bought Bethy and Brandon a bottle of “Navy Strength” Plymouth gin, 57% alcohol by volume. (I’ve tried some since we got back. It’s a bit like drinking petrol, but not as nice.) We drove around the city, so I could weep at how old I’d got.
We then had a quiet night in.
11/12/15 (constant rain.)
That morning we did some shopping in Tavi, and I got my hair cut. I’d grown it long to annoy all my mates, most of whom are bald or balding.
Now I had it shaved off short, No. 4 cut, just because I can. This annoys them even more.
In the afternoon we took a walk around Hound Tor and played “poo sticks”.
That night we ate at the Elephant’s Nest again, we love the Ele’s, and it went up in my estimation when Mike said he didn’t like it. Lee-Anne tried Pheasant for the first time. I had my favourite “rarebit on hake” again.
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